Planned for, wanted so bad, lost. My husband and I decided it was time, after five years of marriage it was time for a baby. Only three months we got our two pink lines. Pure happiness. Pregnancy was a dream. Our due date when out on our Christmas cards. Spotting at 11 weeks sent us to the ER. After 6 hours, “I’m sorry, there is no heart beat” “Growth stopped at 8 weeks” Went home. Gone. Miscarriages happen all the time, we’ll be fine. Three months of trying, two pink lines. Bliss. Blood. Only five weeks. What is wrong? Test me. “No need, your fine, these things happen.” A new town, new optimism. Six months and again Two pink lines. Third times a charm. Everything is wonderful. I feel brand new. We must see our baby. Ultrasound shows a flutter. Still have anxiety, panic attacks, can’t breath. Ten weeks, first appointment, doppler is quiet. Ultrasound can’t find my baby. Baby too small to see. Same size as seven weeks. The flutter is gone. “Now your miscarriages aren’t normal, now only 1% are like you, now you should be tested.” Not enough money for all tests. Few tests are “normal”. Seven months, Two pink lines. “Come back when you’re really pregnant” “If you smoke, you could be killing your babies” Shock, don’t smoke, Five positive tests can’t be wrong, check again, blood, tears. More tests! Check everything. Ultrasounds and blood work and dye tests. “Your chromosomes aren’t normal” “You will need help” “Trying naturally is reckless abandon” I did this. My body didn’t give them the right DNA. Anger, sadness and guilt. No money for IVF with PGD, who has $15,000 lying around anyway? Reading, study and support groups. “You can do this” “Its the luck of the draw” Seven months, Two pink lines. Fear. First trimester heart beat at every appointment, amnio “non-carrier boy” Pure bliss. Hopes for the future. I am not broken, I can do this. Hope.